


got me in knots

by ohmcgee



Series: take the mask off [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Dom Hal, Japanese Rope Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Sub Bruce, Under-negotiated Kink, dom space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: That was when it began. Why it continued, Hal still wasn’t sure.





	got me in knots

**Author's Note:**

> A vague disclaimer is no one's friend, so! Do not try this at home without safe words and you know, knowing what you're doing. Fanfiction isn't a how to guide on how to bdsm properly. Or anything for that matter lol. Have fun, be safe, yada yada yada.

It started with Bruce calling him a coward, with Hal shoving him up against a wall and squeezing Bruce’s throat in his hands after a mission that had gone about as south as one could go. They’d lost a good fucking Lantern on that mission. Hal hadn’t known him personally, but he’d seen him fight. He’d seen enough. 

“You’re angry,” Bruce had managed to get out, even with Hal’s fingers digging into his vocal cords. “Use it.”

“On  _ what, _ ” Hal grit out. He  _ was _ angry. Angry at Bruce, at Clark, at every single fucking one of them for not listening to him when he’d tried telling them how dangerous it was going to be. They were always underestimating him and he was fucking sick of it.

“On me,” Bruce had said.

That was when it began. Why it continued, Hal still wasn’t sure.

 

: : :

 

Hal checks the ropes, then he checks them two more times after that. They seem secure enough, but he’s still pretty sure Bruce would be able to get out of them. Honestly, he doesn't even really know what the hell he’s doing. This thing he and Bruce have going on, whatever you want to call it, doesn't exactly include a whole lot of communication. Bruce usually just sends him an encrypted text with the address of a penthouse he wants him to meet him at. Tonight, Hal found him sitting in his living room in the dark, a duffle bag full of rope at his feet. 

Pretty isn't a word Hal has ever used or even thought of in relation to Bruce Wayne. Handsome, obviously. Attractive, yes. The man has good genes and lots of money. It's not difficult for him to look like he just walked off the cover of GQ. But on his knees in the middle of Hal’s living room, head bowed and veins bulging from his forearms, trussed up like a goddamn present that’s been delivered just for him, nothing but  _ pretty _ comes to Hal’s mind.

Bruce's arms are tied behind his back, the intricate knots secured every three inches or so from his shoulders on down. In the center of his lower back his wrists are bound together tightly, the angle causing his muscles to strain against the rope. He looks fucking gorgeous. A beast tamed by Hal’s deft fingers, bound by his own submission. It's not until Bruce finally attempts to move, whether just to shift his weight or to test Hal’s work, that Hal truly understands what this is about.

Arousal floods Hal’s body when it sinks in that Bruce is immobile and practically helpless before him and his cock goes from semi-soft to fully hard instantaneously. It's heady, just the thought of Bruce being at his mercy. Hal could do anything he wanted to him right now, and after watching Bruce strain against the ropes just from trying to move the smallest bit, Hal’s not even certain that he'd be able to stop him. It's fucking dizzying.

Unsure what he’s meant to do next, Hal reaches out and trails his fingers over the ropes, admiring his work. He runs them down Bruce’s shoulder, over the nasty scar tissue from a knife wound a lifetime ago, down to the knot secured tightly around the swell of muscle at the very top of his arm. Next, he walks behind Bruce, kneeling behind him to trace the lines of rope that lead to his wrists where they’re pressed flush to the small of his back. Every vein under Bruce's skin is bulging and visible and Hal traces them too, until Bruce shudders under his touch and Hal remembers that this isn't something they usually do.

There aren't really any rules when they do this, but at the same time there are too many.

“What do you want?” Hal asks. He stops touching Bruce's skin, but he can't stop running his fingers over the knots on the rope, marvelling at how it could hold something like Bruce. It's hard not to believe all the myths surrounding Batman sometimes, that he’s a creature, a thing, not even human. But even now, stripped of cape and cowl, vulnerable in almost every way, it's still hard to accept that Bruce is just a man.

Bruce doesn't answer Hal's question. Not even a signature, stoic  _ hn _ ; only silence. It reminds Hal of that first time on the watchtower.

 

: : :

 

“You're angry,” Bruce reiterated. “You need someplace to direct that anger before you get yourself or someone else -” 

“Fuck  _ you _ , you piece of shit. That was  _ not _ my -”

“I can take it,” Bruce had said calmly and shut the door behind him, pushing the cowl back and off, then dropping the cape. “You want to hit something? Hit me.”

Too angry and too emotional to control his impulse to lash out, Hal did. Without even thinking about it, he balled his fist up and slammed it right into the side of Bruce's perfectly chiseled face. He felt his knuckles slam into Bruce’s cheekbone and when he dropped his arm, he couldn’t stop staring at where his fist had landed. He was still angry, but now there was something else too, a different kind of adrenaline rushing through him.

Hal’s first thought after Bruce had just stood there and took the punch was that he hoped it bruised. He wanted to see those pretty dark blues and purples spread across Bruce’s cheek, wanted Bruce to think about it every time he looked in a mirror. Hal wanted Bruce to remember how he’d just stood there and let Hal hit him. How he’d  _ wanted  _ it. 

That's when Hal had realized that it wasn't just about letting off steam. It wasn’t one of Bruce’s ridiculous things about team unity or being effective in the field. Because whereas Hal felt nothing but fury -- at himself, the team, at the world -- when he looked into Bruce's eyes he saw the agonizing pain of guilt. A need to atone for his part in what had happened. To be punished for it.

Hal had asked him what he’d wanted then, too. And of course, Bruce hadn’t said a word. Maybe he couldn’t bear to say it outloud or maybe he didn’t even really understand why he was there either. Maybe this was new for both of them.

Maybe, instead of asking Bruce what he wanted, Hal should’ve asked him what he  _ needed. _

 

: : :

 

Talking is one of the unspoken, unstated rules that Hal generally follows whenever they meet up. It’s not like they have a whole lot to talk about anyway. But tonight, for some reason, feels different. This isn't Bruce offering his body up as some kind of sacrifice to absolve himself of his guilt and his failures, kneeling in front of Hal and asking for punishment. This is a whole new ballpark for both of them and Hal feels more than a little rudderless. 

It's just so much.  _ Too _ much, almost. This isn't just about pain and punishment. This is about power and control, about Bruce giving his up and just handing it over to Hal. Like it's that easy. Like it's a simple thing you can just  _ do. _

Feeling a little unsteady, Hal winds his fingers around the ropes that stretch across Bruce’s back. Bruce’s skin is warm against the back of his knuckles, the planes of his back a textured map of scars and bruises. Too dizzy to remain upright, Hal sways forward and presses his forehead to the top of Bruce’s spine. He closes his eyes and breathes Bruce in, leather and sweat and apple scented shampoo, then lets out a shaky exhale.

They stay that way for a long time; Hal can't be sure how much time passes. It's too hard to focus on anything except for the way Bruce’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath he takes. As always, neither of them speak. The only communication between them is Hal matching his own breathing to Bruce’s steady, rhythmic inhalations until the rise and fall of their bodies falls into sync.

It's almost too much, again. It's arousal and pleasure, but it's so much more than that too. It's an intense, indescribable tightness in Hal's chest, a foggy haze that's settled in his mind, making everything fuzzy. It's like an orgasm without actually coming, the soft, blissful pleasure that ripples through him unlike anything Hal’s ever experienced before.

When Bruce's timer goes off, Hal is loath to move. His body still feels heavy and his head is too foggy to latch onto a coherent thought. But this is another unspoken rule. As soon as the timer dings, they're done. 

Hal’s hands feel heavy and clumsy as he works at untying the knots, his fingers brushing over too much of Bruce’s warm, naked skin. Truth be told, he’s in no hurry to see Bruce clothed again. Still, Hal finishes loosening the knots, then pulls them away from Bruce’s body. He watches Bruce roll his shoulders back and stretch his arms, hears his neck pop as he rolls it side to side. There are indentions all up and down Bruce’s arms from the rope and light red marks around his wrists where Hal got the knots tighter than he should have.

“I've got something for that,” he says when he catches Bruce flexing his wrists, likely to get the circulation back to his fingers.

“I'm fine,” Bruce mutters, getting to his feet and grabbing his shirt. As he buttons it back up, Hal can't take his eyes off of Bruce's wrists. He should've said something if they were too tight. Hal should've checked for himself.

“You always are,” Hal says. “But just because you're not dying doesn't mean you can't -”

“We're done, Jordan,” Bruce snaps as he buttons the final button on his shirt, then shoulders past Hal and leaves.

“Somehow,” Hal says, looking down at the duffle bag full of rope beside his coffee table, “I doubt that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ahoy! Follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ohmcgee) if you like trash!


End file.
